


The Sunny Side of Hell

by splashfree



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Eventual Happy Ending, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Kageyama Tobio/Hinata Shouyou, Peripheral Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:41:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3616899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splashfree/pseuds/splashfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clouds have silver linings. If it's dark, there are stars. But the only thing that can be said about hell is that it has a sunny side. It's just a matter of finding it. </p><p>Shōyō Hinata is dead. Tobio Kageyama is alone. And Koushi Sugawara is lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This all began when ouroboros told me that not enough people shipped KageSuga. As a die-hard KageHina shipper, the only way I could make it work in my mind was if Hinata was dead. Then one thing led to another, and. Well. This happened. 
> 
> I hope you can find something you like here.
> 
> Many, many thanks to ouroboros and autoeuphoric for their betas.

Everything, Suga’s learned, comes down to a moment.

A match, for instance. No matter how high the score climbs; no matter how many blocked spikes, direct kills, setter dumps or improbable receives; no matter how hard everybody works; there’s always a moment when the ball hits the court and one team cuts to the sky in victory and the other sinks in defeat. The endless hours of practice; the preparation and nervousness; the best effort of every team member is not so much justified or illegitimized as it is simply overruled. The journey is crucial, but destinations happen in a moment. And moments will change everything.

For instance, Suga can wake up one morning; skim the sports section while tying his tie; catch the bus and breeze into the office; check in with Sanada (whose mother has been ill recently), Nishitani (who’s considering a transfer to Tokyo) and Minomiya (whose wife is eight months pregnant with their first child); sip coffee and sift through emails before the board meeting at one, picking up his ringing phone without a second thought— 

“Suga?”

Almost choke on his coffee because that’s not his boss’ voice – or even Yaku’s, it’s— 

“Daichi?”

Fit the pieces together too late: Daichi, whom he hasn’t heard from in – _but it’s the middle of the day, shouldn’t he be – why my work number, why not—?_ Feel the raw line of cold seep over his body like rust creeps over an abandoned car in winter. 

_There’s…been an accident,_ Daichi’s voice is hushed, fractured. _A-a bad accident.  
_

_Hinata—_

Moments, Suga realize, happen way too fast.

 

  

The funeral. Happens way too fast, and Suga barely has time to walk numbly to his boss’ office, knock twice, _I just got a call, there’s_ —swallow— _there’s a funeral I have to go to this weekend. No, not a family member._ But—but, _maybe as good as_. And Nakamura-san’s face is pinched in sympathy and she tells him, _Of course, of course. Go home_ , and, _I’m sorry for your loss._

_Go home_.

He hasn’t been back in years, and he texts Yaku when he’s sitting on the shinkansen. _< Sorry, I’ve had to go home for a funeral this weekend.> _He can’t think of what else to say, so he just pushes “send,” and turns off his phone.

He should keep it on in case Daichi—or somebody—calls. But— 

Suga leans his forehead against the window and stares out at the city shuttling by. When was the last time he rode the train in the middle of the day like this? It must have been when he was a kid, when he was in high school, for some tournament or another. 

Back when Karasuno remembered how to fly. And he could jump _so high_ , it was unreal, like he really _was_ flying, and it made them all realize— 

The city blurs into countryside, which in turn blurs to a watery haze of green paddies, brown roofs and gray skies.

It made them realize that anything is possible. That just because the powerhouse had fallen didn’t mean it couldn’t stand up one more time.

The bent corners of his lips are salty, beads of liquid dripping off his chin, but Suga doesn’t have the energy in his arm to wipe his face. He just watches the world slip by outside the train, dizzy with the speed. _Too fast,_ he thinks. _Too fast._

 

 

Friday happens. Checking his emails. Drinking orange juice with his mother at the kitchen table. Crying. Talking to Daichi on the phone like they’ve both forgotten how conversations work. Ignoring Yaku’s two missed calls. His text: _< I’m so sorry. Are you okay?>_ Writing and rewriting a different text message before deleting it. 

Then it’s Saturday. It’s the funeral, and Suga leaves his parents’ house in his black suit, his hands extraneous and fiddly. He takes a taxi, suddenly struck with nerves, anxious about the roads he’s traveled countless times. Is everybody coming? How many years since the wedding? Since he graduated high school? Suga can’t remember. He smoothes fingers across his forehead and focuses on the math, the smooth hitch of the car ride oddly soothing behind closed eyes. 

Until he realizes it’s ten. Ten years since he left. 

The tenth anniversary of Karasuno’s resurrection is a funeral. 

Suga can’t swallow past his tie and he chokes calmly, rubbing his aching eyes with his wrist. _Breathe,_ he tells himself simply. _Breathe._

He does. The taxi arrives. There are so many people he doesn’t know. 

Fidgeting with his cuffs and swallowing on his dry throat, he is superfluous and awkward, a hat stand in a parking lot, before he spots Daichi. Yui. 

“Suga.”

Daichi looks different – older – and hesitates as though considering a handshake, before breaking down and hugging him. Suga can’t express how grateful he is that Daichi is shaking, because that gives him an excuse not to. It lets Suga remember that he is good at this. That supporting others is what he does best. 

“I know, Daichi,” he murmurs, smoothing his hand up Daichi’s back. “I know.” 

He exchanges pleasant nothings with Yui, smiles at Eriko, who blinks at him with Daichi’s eyes and lifts three delicate fingers when Suga asks her how old she is. Amazing, he says. I can’t believe she’s gotten so big so fast. Yui smiles, bounces her on her hip, and Daichi fixes his hand on his wife’s shoulder, eyes downcast. 

Yep, Yui says. Time certainly flies. 

Tanaka is there, and Suga is convinced he’ll never get used to seeing him with hair. Tanaka brightens, gives Suga a tight, back-patting hug, and asks animatedly about Sendai and Suga’s life while tears run openly down his face. 

Noya-san’s coming, he says, wiping his eyes. It just so happens he’s in Seoul for a tournament, so he hopped a plane this morning. It was too short notice for Asahi-san to make it, but he really wanted to be here. 

There are so many people Suga doesn’t know. 

Shōyō’s friends from college or Karasuno. It’s a mirage of black suits and dresses, like the flicker on distant summer-stained asphalt, and maybe this is a hallucination after all, Suga wonders, and he isn’t standing here watching a middle-school-aged Natsu Hinata cry. He isn’t listening to the priest chant before a closed, black casket, and he isn’t sitting beside a weeping Tanaka and hollowed-out Daichi. This is just a surreal dream and Suga simply isn’t there. 

And neither, he realizes suddenly, is Kageyama.

 

  

The funeral happens. The priest stops chanting. The casket is moved to a hearse and the family accompanies the body to the crematorium. The mourning party moves to somebody’s house. Suga doesn’t know the host.

Another hour passes in excruciating small-talk with people Suga doesn’t know and frankly doesn’t give a damn about, and just as his obliging smile is beginning to rattle over his teeth like a train over cheap rails, Tanaka materializes beside him.

“So you ready to get wasted?” he mutters. He’s been holding the same tiny sandwich for the past half-hour, and it’s starting to melt between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes are red but finally dry. 

“How could you tell?” Suga breathes. 

“Your eye is twitching,” he says. “You, me, Daichi-san, my place, and all the liquor ever?” 

“Done,” says Suga. “Hey, Daichi.”

Daichi is holding his sleeping little girl, and Suga can’t tell which of them looks more exhausted. Suga and Tanaka explain the plan and Daichi hesitates, but Yui cuts him off.

“Go,” she tells him firmly. “You need this. I’ll take Eri-chan. Just text me if you’ll be very late?” 

Daichi assures her he won’t be and the three of them leave. 

It was just the three of them before, too, Suga realizes as they dig their shoes out of the veritable mountain piled in the _genkan_. The first time they saw Shōyō jump. Surely it can’t have been over a decade ago; Suga can still feel the breathlessness tingling through his arms. Hear Tanaka’s awestruck whistle and Daichi’s soft explicative. _What a horrid piece of symmetry_ , Suga thinks. Still, one piece of it is missing. 

“Did either of you see—” 

Daichi looks up as he opens the door and Suga stops speaking, because standing just outside, fingers hovering over the buzzer, is one of the world’s most coveted liberos. 

“ _Noya._ ” 

Suga, Daichi, and Tanaka say it in unison, and a beat passes in awkward silence before they all burst into laughter. 

“Dammit, Noya-san,” Tanaka says, thumping him into a hug. “You’re so fucking late.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Nishinoya is saying, patting his back. “I got here as soon as I could. Did I miss…?” 

“They took him,” Suga says shortly. “Closed casket though, so. We didn’t. You wouldn’t have seen him anyway.”

Noya nods over Tanaka’s shoulder, carefully appraising Daichi, then Suga. 

“How are you?” he asks them evenly. 

Suga says something he can’t remember, Daichi shrugs, and Tanaka pulls away, dragging his wrist across his eyes. 

“Ready to get drunk,” he says, voice a little fuller now that Noya’s here. “You game?” 

“Hell yeah,” Noya says. “Are the Hinatas—?”

“They’re still at the crematorium,” says Suga. “We’re not sure when they’ll be back.”

“Then I’ll visit tomorrow,” Noya says. “Nobody else in there, right?” 

“Of ours? Yui-san and—”

“Eriko-chan?!” Noya’s eyes gleam at Daichi. “Is she here? Can I say hi?” 

Daichi smiles weakly. “She’s probably still asleep, but I know Yui would love to see you.” 

“I’ll be right back,” Noya promises, heeling out of his shoes. “But then let’s beat it, alright? Shōyō wouldn’t want us to stand around crying into finger sandwiches over him. How lame is that?” 

“Super lame,” Suga agrees, and he can feel the blood start to move in his veins again. Daichi is blinking like he’s just woken up from a power-nap and Tanaka is pulling out his cell phone to let his parents know they’re all coming over. Three minutes later, Noya reemerges from the fray, grins at Daichi, grimaces with Suga, and claps Tanaka hard on the shoulder. 

“Alright. Let’s get drunk.”

Ten years later and the Guardian of Karasuno still has their backs.

 

  

Alcohol is a fabulous invention.

It shifts the painful frames of reality until life becomes an indifferent picture-show of memories and events. It’s never taken much to get Suga drunk (something Yaku never stops teasing him about), but he knocks back two beers like sports drinks and smiles dizzily as Tanaka and Noya recount one episode of summer escapades featuring stolen fireworks, an epic misfire, and Ukai’s shattered store window. 

“So we’re kneeling there,” Noya says animatedly, tabbing open his third beer, “in his backroom, pretty much resigned to getting screamed at all night—” 

“And do you know how much he can scream?” Tanaka says, rubbing his eyes. It’s his living room they’re all slumped in, held together by a loose net of insobriety. “’Cause Ukai can scream. He can scream really a lot.”

“Must get that from his grandfather,” Daichi grunts with a wry smile. “I'm surprised you made it out alive.”

Death is strictly Not Funny today, but through the frames of intoxication, Suga finds himself giggling anyway.

“That’s the thing,” says Noya, pointing a finger at Daichi’s comment, “we both thought we were done for. We were preparing to spend the rest of our miserable lives gluing his window back together piece by tiny piece. But then we hear the front door open, and who walks in but the Crazy Combo.”

Tanaka grins. “And they’re bein’ _loud_.” 

“No,” says Suga delightedly, already seeing where this is going. 

“Actual perfect timing,” Tanaka confirms. “Hinata, our perfect decoy, is screamin’ about volleyball or manga or whatever the hell it is—you know how he does—pissing off Kageyama so that he’s sniping back—and Noya and I just watch as this blood vessel slowly bursts behind Ukai’s left eye and we just. We know. Hinata has just done something magical.” 

“On any other day, it’d’ve been fine,” Noya says. “You know. Coach’d just tell them to shut up, no big deal. But Ryuu and I are just sitting there, watching Coach have a minor aneurysm and thinking, Okay, he’s going to do it. Any second now, he’s going to turn around—” 

“And he does—”

“And we are ninja. Out of there. Silent. Like in anime, when the cop’s back is turned and the thief just bounces. I mean, Ryuu even jumped through the freaking broken window—” 

“’Cause you took the door—what was I supposed to do?” 

“And we run really fast around to the front, because we can’t just abandon the first years—” 

“Gotta protect the babies.”

“Because they have no clue what they just did for us or what they walked into. So we run to the front and we can see through the store window, Ukai is blowing a gasket,” Noya says. “Hinata and Kageyama are scared shitless, because I don’t know if either of them have ever seen a human being that angry before.”

“Precious innocence.” 

“Hinata was shaking,” says Noya, “head to foot – and here I am thinking he’s gonna hurl on Coach’s shoes just to get him to stop talking, when Coach sees _us_ standing outside—and he just—”

“The look on his face.” 

For a moment, they are dissolved into mutual, silent hysterics.

“I can laugh about it now,” Noya says, wiping his eyes, “but I had nightmares for years.”

“And then Noya—” Tanaka stifles his laugh. “Noya-san gets this look in his eye, and sticks his chin out like a friggin’ punk, literally _takes off his jacket_ , stamps his foot down and roars, ‘First years! We’ll hold him off! RUN!’” 

Daichi barks a laugh. “Our little war hero,” he says. 

“Our teeny, tiny samurai,” Suga supplies, patting Noya on his spiky head. 

“It was _not_ that dramatic,” Noya mumbles, but he’s smiling.

“It was ridiculous,” Tanaka assures them. “Ukai’s staring at Noya like he doesn’t know whether he wants to throw down right there or just die laughing, but Kageyama—Kageyama doesn’t wait a _second_ , just _grabs_ Hinata and _dips_. At top speed.”

Of all the things Suga’s heard so far, this image, for whatever reason, is the funniest. They’re all chuckling at this point, so maybe he’s not the only one who’s imagining a wild-eyed Kageyama seizing a trembling Hinata by the collar and bolting away from Ukai, like a greyhound rescuing a pet bunny from a mountain lion. 

“It was amazing,” Noya says. “We all just ran away. I mean, I felt kinda bad about it, but you have to pick your battles.” 

“Plus Hinata and Kageyama were like _worshipful_ ,” Tanaka says not a little dreamily. “’Cause they thought _we_ had rescued _them_ and not the other way around. They called us ‘senpai’ for the rest of the night. It was great.”

“And then we bought them ice cream.” 

“From Shimada’s store.” 

“And told them what good kids they were.”

“It was a magical night.” 

“That’s amazing,” Suga says. “Why did I never hear about this? I can see why you wouldn’t have told Daichi—” 

“I would have destroyed you,” Daichi confirms.

“—but you’d have gotten a laugh out of me.”

“Can’t ever be too careful, Suga-san,” says Tanaka, tapping his temple with a finger. “Hell, we never even told the Combo what actually happened that night. Too risky.” 

“It was that day you came in and we were running laps,” Noya explains. “Do you remember? And we told you we were ‘pre-empting our doom.’”

“I remember that,” says Daichi. “I remember thinking that was weird. He didn’t tell you to? Ukai, I mean?” 

Noya drains his second beer. “Nah,” he says. “Self-imposed. A hundred laps. We figured it’d be more effective than apology flowers.” 

“He didn’t even make us replace the window,” Tanaka says. “Though he still hasn’t stopped blackmailing me for favors with it. Good guy, Ukai.” 

“Was he there today?” asks Noya. 

“Yeah,” Tanaka says, and Suga feels a jolt of surprise. “He’s doing good. Told me to say ‘hi’ to you—and Asahi-san, obviously—and says you should drop by the store if you have time.” 

“I didn’t see him,” says Suga, his stomach sinking in disappointment. Daichi and Tanaka blink in surprise.

“That’s weird,” says Tanaka. “Oh, I guess his hair’s different, so you might not have recognized him? Or…well, there were a lot of people and, uh. We were all pretty out of it. But he’s aging well. Not going bald or anything. Yet.”

“Aging well,” Daichi repeats with a chuckle as Noya pours him more sake. “He’s like what…thirty-something?” 

“Don’t do the math, Daichi,” Suga says, shaking his head with a laugh. “You’ll just depress us.” 

“Forties,” Tanaka insists. “I refuse to believe Ukai isn’t at least forty-nine or something.”

“Daichi-san, are you actually twenty-eight?” Noya asks.

“Twenty-seven,” he corrects. “But yeah, I will be in December.” 

Tanaka swears loudly, scrubbing his hands through his short hair. “Seriously?!” he groans. “You’re like a year older than me and you’ve got a wife and kid and everything. Dammit.” 

“That’s our Daichi,” Suga says with a smile. It’s a statement best swallowed with beer. 

“Arghhh, Eriko-chan is so _gorgeous,_ ” Noya says, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t stand it. How is being a dad, Daichi-san? Is it the best thing ever?”

“Yeah,” Daichi’s smile is soft. Distant. “It’s…a lot of work. A lot of responsibility. But amazing. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Well, you were always kind of ‘Dad’ to us, Captain,” Suga says, nudging him with an elbow. “Keeping us all in line. Treating us to meat buns. I’d say you were born for fatherhood.” 

“Bet Eriko-chan’s gonna have you wrapped around her little finger though,” Tanaka says with a wicked grin. “Something tells me Daddy Daichi-san’s not gonna be able to say ‘no’ to his precious little princess.” 

“Shut up, Tanaka,” Daichi mutters, but they all laugh.

“Speaking of precious princesses,” Suga’s eyes slip to Noya who still has his face dug into his hands, “how’s Asahi?” 

Noya’s hands come down. “Great,” he says with a grin. “Amazing. Perfect. He really wanted to be here, but it was too short notice and he couldn’t get a flight.” 

“What’s he doing these days again?” says Daichi with a light frown. “Was it teaching?” 

“Ughhh, don’t get him started, Daichi-san,” Tanaka groans rolling his eyes as Noya’s face lights. “He’s never gonna shut up now.” 

“Yep! Still teaching Japanese,” Noya says, ignoring Tanaka. “He’s amazing at it, you should see him. He’s so quiet and unassuming and just—well, you know, _Asahi_ —that at first I was worried people were just going to walk all over him. But he listens, you know? Really listens. And then just calmly points out mistakes in this really nice way that makes you feel really good about yourself even though you’re wrong.” He laughs. “Everyone _loves_ him, especially the girls. They just _swoon_ and he gets _so_ embarrassed, it’s wonderful. I think he really has a knack for it, but he’s been saying recently that he wants to work with kids. But he needs to pass some tests or something to do that, and he’s still not feeling confident about his English even though I _told_ him he’s—” 

“See?” Tanaka silences Noya with an affectionate elbow around the neck. “I think I liked you guys better when you were sneaking into the clubroom after practice to make out. This whole married thing is goin’ straight to your head.” 

Noya giggles, his face flushed with more than alcohol. “I know, right?” he echoes, twisting the thin silver band. “It’ll be three years in August.”

That’s right. Three years since their wedding. Beautiful, twenty-four-degree weather in mid-August. A small, Western ceremony in New York City. Suga had been there with Yaku—Daichi and Yui with a tiny Eriko—Tanaka and his girlfriend at the time (Reiko-chan, was it?)—Tsukishima and Yamaguchi—Ennoshita—Noya’s sister and parents and Asahi’s mother. Hinata and Kageyama, who brought the newlyweds a volleyball autographed by all of the Toshiba Titans. Hinata, who’s flashing a peace-sign over Tanaka’s head in the wedding photos, and Kageyama, who’s laughing like he’s finally well-practiced at it. Hinata and Kageyama, who held hands surreptitiously, who danced less so, who ended up kissing in front of everybody when a tipsy Noya demanded it, who made it look like something worth wanting and worth fighting for. 

Hinata and Kageyama. Hinata. And—

“Gah,” Tanaka grunts, shaking Suga out of his reverie with a shove to Noya’s shoulder. “Why are all my friends so goddamn respectable with such shining futures ahead of them, goddammit? Makes me look bad.” 

“I’m neither respectable nor shining with future prospects,” Suga offers helpfully. 

“Suga-san,” Tanaka says, toasting him with a hand over his heart. “You are my idol.” 

“Why, what’s going on with you, Suga-san?” Noya asks, lifting his eyebrow. “You’re still in Sendai, right?” 

“Yep,” says Suga mildly. “Office work. Not the most exciting thing in the world, but I’m managing a floor right now, so that’s something. I suppose.” 

“That’s awesome!” It’s sweet of one of the best professional liberos in the world to pretend that being an office manager is “awesome.” The thought is bitter as the aftertaste of alcohol, and Suga wonders if he shouldn’t stop drinking. 

“It’s not bad,” Suga admits, reminding himself that he’s being truthful. “I think I do my job well, anyway. A lot of it’s kind of like playing as a setter, actually. Figuring out how to help people work to the best of their abilities.” 

“They’re lucky to have you,” Noya says with a sage nod. “You’ll probably end up running the whole company one day, knowing you.” 

“Definitely,” says Daichi. He seems to realize his smile is strained, apologetic, and he clears it away with a hasty cough. 

“Don’t give in, Suga-san,” says Tanaka, nudging him with an elbow. “Be a dead-end nobody like me. We can go bald and stay single together.” 

“Sounds fun,” Suga laughs. “And probably likely.” 

“Don’t listen to this guy, Suga-san,” says Noya. “That’s not who you are.” 

“True,” Suga muses. “My dad’s in his fifties and still has a full head of hair.” 

“Lucky,” Tanaka sobs. “My dad went bald at thirty-two. _Thirty-two_.” 

“I’m serious.” Noya’s eyes are fixed on Suga, oddly intense for the amount of alcohol he’s consumed. “Suga-san, you’re _amazing_. And you should know that. We all think so. We always have.”

Suga laughs breathily, feeling his stomach flip and face slowly warm. Tanaka is nodding solemnly and Daichi is watching him calmly. Carefully. “Well, you’re all very kind,” he says with a sitting half-bow. The room spins.

“Seriously.” For whatever reason, Noya is not letting this go, staring at him with solid eyes like Suga is a ball rocketing for the court. “Wherever you go and whatever you do – you have this ability to figure out _exactly_ what a person needs and help them get it. Tell people _exactly_ what they need to hear, or take a group of strangers and make them all friends. It’s amazing.” 

When he puts it like that, Noya makes it sound like some kind of incredible gift, but Suga doesn’t buy it. He isn’t gifted; he knows that and has always known that. If he were, he’d be doing something more worthwhile than managing one unit at some no-name office in Sendai. He prides himself in being diligent, but that’s just it: hard workers work hard, but the truly talented go places. 

Noya’s just drunk, he realizes, but well intentioned. Suga smiles and prepares to tease him not to praise him too much, that Asahi will get jealous. 

Instead his voice says, “Where’s Kageyama?” 

Shock hits and breaks on Noya’s face and he looks to Tanaka, who hunches down, staring at his fingernails. Glances up at Daichi, whose jaw twitches, his eyes watery and intoxicated.

“He wasn’t there?” Noya says. “I…I thought he must be with his family or something and that’s why he didn’t come tonight, but…he wasn’t there?!” 

“No,” Daichi says softly. “He’s still in Tokyo.” 

“Why,” says Suga pleasantly. He’s not curious – he’s demanding, and he _will_ know, because it is the only piece of this standing nightmare that he can’t make sense of yet. 

Daichi swallows and stares dully at Tanaka’s bowed head. “We don’t know,” he says heavily. “Probably a lot of things.” 

“Hinata’s.” Tanaka stops. “Hinata’s grandmother and uh. His family. Don’t really, uh. Like. Kageyama. You know.” 

“Because they’re together,” Suga finishes for him, vaguely aware of his present tense. He doesn’t correct himself. “So they forbade him from coming?”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Noya hisses, visibly bristling. “To his _funeral?!_ Are you fucking _kidding_ —”

“Noya-san,” Tanaka says. “Calm down. It’s. It’s probably not just that.” 

“I don’t think they told him he couldn’t come,” Daichi says. “My impression is that they have zero contact with him and like it that way. But they did rush Hinata home after the accident and…and had the funeral immediately, so. It made it hard for a lot of people to come.”

“Yeah, like Asahi,” Noya says cagily, seeming to forget that he missed the funeral too.

“And it’s not just that,” Tanaka insists, looking pleadingly at Daichi. Daichi rubs his hand over his face with a papery sigh.

“Kageyama,” he says slowly, “was with Hinata when…when it happened.”

Suga swallows, carefully pressing each one of his fingertips into his beer can. “And what happened, exactly?” he asks his hands quietly. 

Daichi clears his throat and delivers it matter-of-factly, in much the same tone he used to use when explaining new volleyball plays:

“Kageyama and Hinata were riding in a taxi and it was hit by a truck. They were both in the backseat, but it was Hinata’s side that was.” He swallows the word. “Both drivers died on impact, and Hinata…held on, apparently, for almost an hour, but by the time they got him to the hospital, he had already….” Daichi swallows hard and clears his throat again. Gruffly sweeps a thumb underneath his eye. 

“Kageyama?” Suga asks quietly.

Daichi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alive,” he says. Shakes his head and knocks back the rest of his drink. “They’re saying it’s a miracle because of the way—well, just the pattern of impact. But other than whiplash and a few bruises, Kageyama is fine. He didn’t even break a bone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading. I know my track record for multi-chapter fics isn't exactly stellar, but rest assured I'm in this for the long haul. I have direction and purpose and am dedicated to giving Suga his happy ending ~~(because Suga is a precious child who deserves nothing less).~~ I even have prepared a buffer a couple chapters deep, so if the story intrigues you at all, I would love to have you along for the ride.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait! Moving house has been keeping me busy. Many thanks to [ouroboros](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroboros) for their excellent beta!

Daichi knows all this, because Kageyama called him minutes after the crash.

It’s dark outside, the spring night chilly beyond the yellow-lit living room. Daichi is the first to stagger to his feet, mumbling something about home, and Suga convinces him to call Yui for a ride instead of attempting the dark, winding roads on foot. When she arrives, Daichi hugs Suga goodbye, holding on a little too tightly and a little too long, his face red and eyes watery again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Suga promises him and clasps Yui’s hands in farewell.

“Thank you,” she says, and Suga smiles.

Noya’s chipper fighting spirit has deteriorated with the daylight, and he lies curled against Tanaka, who seems to have no objections being a surrogate for Asahi for the evening. Noya’s face is smooshed against his shoulder, tears slipping slowly over the bridge of his nose.

“You going?” Noya lifts his head when Suga turns to face them pointedly.

“Yeah,” says Suga. “It’s getting late and it’s been a…a long day.” He’s gratified that his laugh isn’t as unnatural as it could be.

“Do you need a ride?” Tanaka offers blearily. “I’m drunk as fuck, but my mom could probably take you if you want.”

“I’m alright,” Suga says with a smile. “It’s not a long walk, and I could use the air. I’m not really that drunk anymore anyway.”

“Well, be safe, okay?” Tanaka frowns, still troubled. “Text me when you get home or something.”

“I’ll be fine,” Suga assures him. “How long are you in town for, Noya?”

Just the weekend, apparently; he’s flying out early Monday morning at the same time that Suga will be sitting on a train back to Sendai. Tanaka has been roped into helping his mother move boxes at his family’s restaurant tomorrow morning, and Noya says he’ll be visiting the Hinatas anyway, so they all make tentative plans to meet in the afternoon. With a promise to text later, Suga departs, leaving Noya and Tanaka huddled together on the couch.

The night air is fluid and cold against Suga’s warm face, and the crisp moon stains the black roads gray. He plods up the sloped street, fumbling at his tie with fingers reluctant to function, laughs breathily when he staggers into a telephone pole; maybe he’s not as sober as he first thought.

Calling a taxi really doesn’t feel like an option.

He pulls out his phone to find three unread texts waiting for him. They’re all from Yaku.

_< Hey. How are you holding up?>  
_

_< Give me a call if you get a chance. I’m here if you need to talk.>_

And _< I’m worried about you, Suga.>_

Three careful phrases meant to make him feel supported but not smothered. Suga sighs, opens an empty text message, and considers his options, thumbs hanging loosely over the touch-screen.

He must stand there for minutes before he deletes it with a sigh. What could he possibly say over text?

What could he possibly say at _all?_ He shifts against the telephone pole until it’s slumped in his half-embrace. How is he ever going to learn how to talk about this like it’s real and not just some sick dream he’s ready to wake up from? He stares at his phone, a floating, white box of contacts glowing beneath his thumb. At the top of the list is _Azumane, Asahi_ , followed by _Ennoshita, Chikara_ , then—

 _Kageyama, Tobio_.

Suga stares at the name, at the kanji so familiar they might as well belong to him. They look so stark cut into his bright screen, so barren unaccompanied as they always are by the kanji for sun and flight; these days you can’t read any piece on volleyball without mention of the two dark horses from Karasuno. Alone on this list, however, Kageyama’s name looks extinguished, as abandoned as a high school classroom over summer.

 _He didn’t even break a bone,_ Daichi said. _Kageyama is fine_.

Kageyama, Suga knows, is decidedly not.

And in any other universe, he hits the small, green call button and knows exactly what to say. He is the hero Noya described, is able to pinpoint exactly what Kageyama needs and deliver it without so much as a second thought.

In this one, however, his hands shake as the line clicks to voicemail, he stutters over his own name— _I know we haven’t talked in awhile but_ —mumbles haltingly, awkward— _I heard about Hinata and—_ states the obvious— _I know you’re probably not okay right now but—_ mind swimming with so many meaningless words— _you’re not alone, so—_ because what can he possibly do?— _if you need anything—ever—just—_

Hangs up after fifteen suffocating seconds, stares at his phone, and wonders why both alcohol and cell phones exist in the same universe.

He groans and plants his forehead against the gritty surface of the telephone pole, some distant, inner coach echoing perversely between his ears: _Don’t mind, don’t mind!_

The words sound so absurd that he laughs, and the bitter noise salves his embarrassment. Okay. So maybe he can’t live up to Noya’s praise after all. With a hot pang of embarrassment, Suga suddenly wonders why he even tried.

 _Hey now._ That inner coach is faint through the haze of his intoxication, but still present. Suga digs his fingers into the wood, closing his eyes to better focus on the voice. _That’s not very nice._

 _No,_ he agrees, and sighs. _Nice, Koushi_ , he reminds himself. _Be nice_. With purpose he detaches from the telephone pole and staggers slowly up the hill. _If you don’t start moving soon,_ he tries gently, _you’ll be here all night.  
_

Speaking of being nice. He flicks down the list of contacts to the very last one. Yaku picks up on the second ring.

“Suga?”

“Hi,” says Suga. “Sorry I’ve…been away from my phone. Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Yaku says quickly. There’s rustling in the background. “I was just reading. How…how are you?”

“I’ve been better,” Suga says with a light laugh. “It’s been tough.”

“I can imagine,” says Yaku gently. “Who…passed?”

Suga swallows, staring at a fixed point six paces ahead. Here, his brain offers. This is practice. Practice talking about it. “An old teammate,” he says levelly. “You may not remember him. Number ten from our side. Back in high school. Shōyō Hinata.”

“Hinata?” There’s more rustling. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember him. Kenma—our setter was really enchanted with him back then. And he could jump like nobody I’ve ever seen. God, of course, I remember him. He—how—what happened?”

“Car accident,” says Suga, and if he keeps his words short and practical, it’s manageable. “His taxi was hit by another vehicle.”

“God,” Yaku says, appropriately horrified. “I’m…so sorry, Suga,”

That’s no good; the sympathy in Yaku’s voice kicks a backwash of tears up his throat, but Suga strangles it down again. “Me too,” he says carefully, breathing from his stomach to keep his voice from shaking. “He…was an amazing guy. Had a lot ahead of him.”

“Is he the one who plays for the Titans?”

Suga smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “He and his setter, Kageyama—”

He chokes so hard he nearly coughs. That, it seems, is no good either.

“…Suga?”

“Nothing,” he croaks. “Just…it’s been a long couple of days. Sorry to not be there. You’re in Sendai, right?”

“Yeah,” Yaku says. “I leave Monday, as usual.”

“Ah, then I’ll miss you after all. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s a horrible thing you have to deal with. I’m…really sorry about your friend. I wish there was more I could do. ”

The corner of Suga’s mouth spasms. “Thanks.”

“I’d offer to stay another day,” says Yaku, “but there’s a meeting I really can’t miss on Monday so—”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” Suga says, waving his hand. “I’ll be busy with work all day, and I’m just going to want to sleep when I get home. My guess is I’ll be doing a lot of that.” His chuckle cracks over the edge of his lips.

“But if there’s anything I can do,” Yaku insists. “If you need…anything. To talk, or…or to not talk, or…a change of scenery, and you want to come to Tokyo for a while, you’re always welcome. Just tell me.”

Suga smiles tiredly. “Thanks, Yaku.”

“Of course.”

An awkward silence passes between them, and Suga considers saying something sweet: _“I miss you.” “I wish you were here.”_ But he’s too tired and numb to know if he actually means it, so he just says, “Sorry for calling so late. You should get some sleep.”

“Are you going to be okay tonight?”

“Yeah,” says Suga, and he’s almost convinced. “I’m going to sleep as soon as I get home.”

“Okay,” says Yaku. “Call if you need me.”

 _“Of course I need you.”_ Nope. “Thanks, Yaku. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Suga.”

He hangs up and shoves the phone back in his pocket. _I’m neither respectable nor shining with future prospects,_ he promised Tanaka, and nothing could be so indicative of this as his relationship with Morisuke Yaku, Nekoma’s former libero. An employee of a partner company in Tokyo, Yaku had serendipitously reappeared in Suga’s life when he arrived at the Sendai offices for a business meeting. Suga had stared for the better part of an hour, trying and failing to place him, but Yaku had recognized him immediately. (“It was your beauty mark,” he’d admit later. “There’s no forgetting something that cute.”) They got to talking about high school, volleyball, the unlikely probability of meeting again, and ended up going out to dinner that night to catch up properly. Over the course of their meal, Suga discovered Yaku was charming, attractive, and easy to talk to.

And judging by how the evening ended, Yaku felt similarly.

The next morning, as Suga fished his tie out from beneath the hotel bed, Yaku had spoken flatteringly about him, saying how much he enjoyed their night together, but, “I guess this kind of thing can’t last forever, can it?”

Suga frowned because, coy or not, it was an odd thing to say after a first date.

“Sorry, I mean,” Yaku clarified with an embarrassed laugh, “you’re going to want to get married one day, right? Start a family?”

 _With a woman_ , Suga considered the subtext. This—whatever this was—was obviously temporary. A placeholder. Practice.

Suga had smiled, flipping his tie over and through in a steady, practiced loop. “I honestly don’t think about it much,” he said.

“Ah,” said Yaku, and that was all he needed to. He laid back against his pillow. “I see.”

Judging by the friendly smile and handshake upon his departure, Yaku felt differently.

Still, life gets lonely for two young bachelors trying to ward off the aggressive advance of time, so while Suga had never envisioned himself engaging in such a relationship before, hooking up whenever Yaku was in town seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement. For Suga, anyway, it fractured the endless, dismal landscape of his romantic future into something more manageable and helped distract him from the anxiety of coming up with yet another excuse for his parents at New Year’s when they asked him why he still didn’t have a girlfriend. He figures he can probably milk their “late-bloomer” theory until he’s about thirty, which gives him just a little over two years.

And a lot can happen in that time, he reminds himself. Too much.

Suga lets himself into his dark house and actually considers texting Tanaka – but no, he and Noya are probably fast asleep on the couch, and he doesn’t want to wake them up. Instead he shuffles down the hall, past his dad’s snoring, and lets himself into his room. It is a perfectly preserved exhibit of high-school Koushi Sugawara, sans volleyball uniform hanging from the curtain rod. His futon has been laid out for him, and Suga pulls off his jacket, his tie, and his belt; curls up on his bedding; and immediately falls to sleep.

Mercifully, he doesn’t dream. Just opens his eyes to morning light staining his window, and now it’s Sunday.

Suga rubs his eyes and checks his phone. Nine fifty-four. Almost eleven hours of sleep. In his post-slumber euphoria, his brain has forgotten, momentarily, why his eyes are so achy and why his chest feels sunk by lure weights.

 _That’s right,_ he reminds himself. _Hinata is gone_.

His mind can be so wretchedly helpful sometimes.

Five new text messages are waiting for him behind his lock screen.

 **From: Sawamura, Daichi – 07:25**  
**Text:** _< Really great to see you, Suga. I wish the circumstances were different, but I can’t tell you how good it is to have you home. It’s been too long, and I realize that’s mostly due to me not staying in touch very well, so I’m sorry about that. Turns out having a kid makes time go by ridiculously fast. I swear it feels like you were just leaving for university yesterday.  
_

_God I sound like my father.  
_

_Well tonight I’ll drink you all under the table and prove I’m not an old fogie yet. See you. >_

_< Daichi, no young person uses the word “fogie”>_ Suga texts back with a smile. _< You’ve betrayed yourself. The damage is done. You’re as ancient as Ukai in my book.  
_

_< But seriously, it’s great to see you too. Even better under different circumstances, but I’ll take what I can get. I’m so happy family life is suiting you. I never had a doubt you’d find the life you wanted.  
_

_< And your cool, young-kid shtick will be more convincing if you can manage to stay up past ten. Just a pro tip.>_

**From: Nishinoya, Yuu – 09:03  
Text: ** _< Suga-san, good morning! Last night was fun, right? I’m sure Shōyō’s fist-pumping over how drunk we got over him haha. Looking forward to doing it again tonight._

_< Listen, I meant to ask, but how are you really holding up? Maybe it's a dumb question with an obvious answer, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you. We all are. So I know how you can put on a strong face – and I admire that so much – but don't feel like you have to, and don’t feel weak if you can’t. You are strong, Suga-san, and you are amazing. I know I was pretty drunk last night, but I meant everything I said.  
_

_< P.S. Asahi cried when I Skyped him last night, and all he could talk about was how much he wanted to hug you. I’ll try not to feel jealous :P>_

Suga smiles softly as he texts back, fingertips padding silently over the touchscreen.

 _< Thank you, Noya>_ he says, and pauses. _< It really means a lot to me that we’re still friends after all this time. I miss you and Asahi a lot, but I’m so glad you guys are happy. You’re my heroes, you know. So watching you two find your way means everything to me.  
_

_< And don’t be jealous; I’ll give you a hug too :P>_

Finally, not half an hour ago:

 **From: Tanaka, Ryuunosuke – 09:35**  
**Text:** _< shit I fell asleep, suga-san are you alright?? you got home alright right?? i’ll assume you did and were just too tired to text ‘cause I don’t blame you. i could probably sleep for a year.  
_

_< so i figure for tonight you guys can just come over to my house again like yesterday? daichi-san says he’ll try not to be a pathetic fool this time but ha we know better don’t we? i have money down he’ll fall asleep on my couch by 10:30 what’s your bet?>_

**From: Tanaka, Ryuunosuke – 09:40  
Text:** _< i don’t wanna be awake suga-san. i really don’t wanna ‘cause i can’t stop remembering and i know it’s bad to not wanna remember but i just don’t and i wish it would stop. you think it’ll ever stop?>_

 **From: Tanaka, Ryuunosuke – 09:41  
Text:** _< sorry, i think i’m still half asleep haha. forget that last stuff, see you tonight!>_

Suga swallows, exhaling slowly through his nose. It takes him a moment before he can reply.

_< My money’s on nine-thirty. Should I bring sake, beer or plum wine?>_

Two minutes later, as Suga’s unbuttoning his dress-shirt, his phone buzzes.

 **From: Tanaka, Ryuunosuke – 10:13  
Text:** _< YES>_

He chuckles.

Suga takes a quick shower, and by the time he shuffles into the kitchen to his saran-wrapped breakfast and note from his mother, his consciousness has sunk back into its depressed reality. Still, he feels more human than he did yesterday and even manages to eat more than half his breakfast. His stomach whines with the sudden influx of fuel, and now that he thinks about it, Suga can’t remember the last time he stomached anything more substantial than beer or orange juice.

Stocked on a little food and a lot of sleep, Suga makes his way into town, slowly wandering the cold, spring day with his hands in his pockets. He hops a little to peek over Tanaka’s wall when he passes, but sees no movement from the overgrown yard or dim windows beyond. He feels like a kid all of a sudden: _Excuse me, Mrs. Tanaka, but can Ryuu come out to play?_ He laughs in a puff of wry air.

He kicks a pebble into the road as though to reinforce the fantasy that they are all still just children living safe lives in a big, forgiving world. Racing to school, eating ice cream in the streets, playing volleyball outside till the sun stains the whole sky orange and black. Free and ignorant masters of possibility. Anxious to reach adulthood.

Now he’s a twenty-seven-year-old bachelor who works as a unit manager for a company that sells light bulbs. Did he make it?

Did Hinata?

Hinata was two years his junior, but the last images Suga can recall are of a compact young man; strong, wiry arms; legs knotted like oak and lithe like willow. Suga even remembers him with orange scruff on his chin once: the day after Noya and Asahi’s wedding, when he sat yawning widely next to Kageyama at the breakfast table, thumping his setter’s back as though simply to create contact. Kageyama, of course, had pinned his ears and they squabbled a bit, but if there was something that had matured in Hinata, it was his capacity for strategic thinking. His hand grew heavy on his setter’s spine, the corners of his lips light and devious, and Kageyama’s arguments became diluted by Hinata’s proximity before they were silenced altogether. Until, that is, Suga announced his presence with a light cough and they jolted apart, Kageyama red-faced and Hinata grinning sheepishly.

Even now, Suga can’t help but smile. Hinata _had_ grown up. He had reached that elusive “adulthood,” probably even better than Suga has. And yet—

_I guess this kind of thing can’t last forever, can it?_

There are all sorts of dark thoughts littered across the road ahead, and Suga slows, watching the early afternoon traffic filter across it. He can’t. If he walks any further, he’s going to be pushing back in time, up the road to where Hinata is still fifteen years old, spiking volleyballs against the gym walls and messing up his serves. Those are steps he doesn’t want to retrace, and just as Suga is preparing his retreat, he realizes where he’s standing.

He looks to the right. Imagines two first years trembling beyond those glass windows, two guilty senpai standing right where his feet are now. That familiar head of bleached hair isn’t loitering past the aisles, but Suga can picture him as he always was, feet propped on the counter, smoking an idling cigarette over a volleyball magazine.

The bell that rings over his head is different.

“Welcome,” a scratchy voice grunts from the counter, and Ukai doesn’t even bother to glance up from where he’s buried in a newspaper. Suga takes in the narrow shelves, the battered cash register and ice cream cooler. Bell aside, Sakanoshita Store is the same as Suga ever remembers it; even some of the product looks like it hasn’t been replaced.

“I don’t _feel_ very welcome,” Suga comments mildly. “How seriously do you take customer satisfaction here?”

It’s something he’d never have dared say in high school, but now that he has ten years of “real life” between him and caring, Suga finds the nerve. It gets Ukai’s attention, that’s for sure; the newspaper crumples against his knee, and just as his eyes flash with the kind of fire that no amount of life experience could ever protect you from, he blinks. Relaxes.

“What are you suggesting, Sugawara?” he says. “That I’m being insensitive to the noisy, snot-nosed brats that stomp in here with their muddy feet, read all my manga monthlies and never buy shit?” His eyes narrow. “I can swear around you now, right? I can’t tell you how hard that was not to do sometimes.”

Suga laughs, and when he shakes the hand that’s offered to him, its strength travels straight to his heart.

“How the hell’ve you been, Sugawara?”

Suga smiles. “It’s good to see you, Coach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Thank you for hanging in there with me, and I hope you are continuing to enjoy this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's chapter three! I apologize for the wait - life has been really, really busy, but I'm not giving up on this! I promise! It may take me awhile, but I'm sticking with this! Thank you so much for hanging in there with me and for reading - it really means everything to know that people are enjoying this ~~really horribly depressing~~ story!! Many thanks to [ouroboros](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroboros) for their beta!!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~aight, now who's ready for some Ukai feels??~~

“Don't call me that,” Ukai says immediately, waving his hand and sitting down again. “I stopped being your coach ages ago. Keishin’s fine. Here, sit down.” He grabs a folding chair from behind the counter and shakes it out. 

Tanaka was right, Suga realizes; Ukai _does_ look good. His hair is different – short now, with a few streaks of natural gray – but his features are settled firmly into his face like the sculptor has finally committed. Suga could easily describe him as ruggedly handsome, and he feels pleasantly uncomfortable doing so. 

“Thanks,” he says with a tidy smile, sitting across from Ukai.

“You smoke?” Ukai offers the crumpled pack and Suga laughs, hands raised. 

“No, thank you,” he says. “I hear those things can kill you.” 

Ukai snorts, mouth twisting in a smirk. “Still a wise guy, huh?” he says, evaluating Suga with sharp, dark eyes. “Good. Glad to hear it.” 

Maybe that opinion of his character should trouble him, but Suga laughs like he’s been offered a compliment. And perhaps he has. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ukai dismisses it with a toothy smile, tapping out a fresh cigarette. “So? How the hell are you? Feels like it’s been awhile.” 

“It has,” Suga confirms. “Almost ten years.” 

Ukai stares, eyebrows quirking wildly. “Shit, really?” he says, flicking open his lighter. He takes a moment to nurse his cigarette to life, puffing out a breath of white smoke. “That’s ridiculous. Ten years ago, that’s—what, when you graduated?” 

“About then, yes,” he says and grins. “I’m surprised you still remember me.” 

“It’s the beauty mark.” Ukai jabs his pinky beside his own eye and Suga laughs, trying not to cross-reference the last time he heard that; associating Ukai’s uncomfortably roguish looks with anything post-coital doesn’t seem like a wise move. “Of course I remember you, Sugawara. You were always my favorite, you know.”

Suga laughs. “I bet you say that to all the graduates.” 

“I’m serious.” Ukai is grinning, but his voice is honest. “You’re not the forgettable type. So then? What’s a clever kid like you up to these days anyway?”

It’s far easier to explain his lukewarm existence to Ukai than it has been to describe it to anybody else. Not that his friends have been anything less than fully supportive, but there’s something inexplicably grounding about Ukai. Like he understands Suga on some level that most people simply don’t. Ukai listens carefully, nodding less in enthusiasm than in simple acknowledgement. 

“Good for you,” he says when Suga finishes, and it’s genuine praise. “That’s great. Do you like it?” 

Suga shrugs. “I’m good at it,” he equivocates. “It pays the bills.” 

“That’s a lot.” Ukai studies him, taking another drag. “That can be enough. Take this place”—he tips his chin at the store around him—“I wouldn’t say I loved it right off the bat, but it’s a good life. I can understand why Mom shoved it on me, anyway. Do you still play?”

“Volleyball? Not in years,” Suga admits.

“That’s a shame,” Ukai tells him. “You were a hell of a setter.”

“Thanks,” Suga chuckles. Ukai’s being sweet to him, and he can’t say he doesn’t like it. “I did in college a bit – just as a club sport – and it was fun, but…I don’t know. Somehow there’s no replacing Karasuno.”

“Once you find a team,” Ukai agrees, his mouth twitching fondly, “it’s hard to let that go. Well, you shouldn’t let that stop you, y’know? You guys should still play sometime. Come home for the holidays once and awhile, toss around a—” 

Ukai stops, mouth frozen open as he realizes what he’s saying. Shuts it mechanically. Runs a hand over his eyes. “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Suga says softly. 

“I still don’t believe it.” 

“Yeah.” 

They sit for a while, the distant purr of passing cars folding up the silence. Ukai sniffs, pulling his hand away from his eyes, which are brighter than before. 

“I’m such an idiot,” he says, his words slurred by speed. “Here I am sitting and reading an article about it and I start saying that dumb shit.” 

He flicks the paper with the back of his hand. It's an old picture: the one where Hinata’s holding a trophy while his teammates hold him. Suga remembers that match, the first time the Toshiba Titans stole the championship from the Nagasaki Pirates. The picture is in black and white, but Suga knows that were it to be pitched in color, it would look like a lit Christmas cake, Hinata’s bright orange hair atop a mass of green and white uniforms. 

Suga scans the photo and sure enough – there’s Kageyama, gripping Hinata’s knee, other hand clenched, face screwed up in victory. Ecstatic.

“It’s a nice piece, actually,” says Ukai with a light sigh. “Sometimes they get too sappy with obits, but it’s a solid tribute. You want to read it?” 

“I—” Suga swallows, lacing his fingers on his lap. “Not right now,” he says carefully. “Thank you though.” 

Ukai nods and gingerly folds up the paper, as though it’s a sleeping creature he’d rather not wake. “So,” he says deliberately, “I take it you’ve met up with those other jokers? Tanaka and them?” 

“Yeah,” says Suga, happy to find his way back to breathing. “I wish it were under different circumstances, but it’s wonderful to see everyone again. We’re all drinking tonight, if you want to join us.” 

Ukai puffs out smoke with a laugh. “You kidding?” he says. “An old guy like me? I can’t keep up with you kids.” 

“You’d only have to outlast Daichi to avoid our scorn,” Suga tells him. “And I’m guessing that won’t be too difficult.” 

“Daichi.” Ukai grins and shakes his head, cigarette tipping delicately from his lax fingers. “You know, I always had this sense he’d the be type to take growing up a little too seriously. I mean, how old are any of you anyway? Twelve?” 

“Something like that.” 

“And his little Eriko goes to daycare with my youngest. I mean seriously, take it easy already.”

It feels unnecessarily good to chuckle at that. “Well, I guess it doesn’t make sense to waste time,” says Suga, “if you meet the love of your life in high school.” 

Ukai blows a raspberry, and Suga never knew until now just how much he missed his high school volleyball coach. “Better luck than I had,” Ukai grimaces. “I swear, the day before I met Marina, I had just come to terms with dying a crotchety old bachelor. Then she threw me for a loop.” Ukai frowns, gaze flickering in arithmetic. “You haven’t met her, have you? Or my kids.” 

“Not yet,” Suga says with a quiet smile. Of all the things he could have anticipated ten years ago, Ukai getting hitched and generating two little Ukais was not necessarily high on his list. And yet when Tanaka had texted him the news, Suga couldn’t imagine anything more natural. “But Tanaka speaks highly of your wife.” 

“Should I be happy about that?” Ukai wonders flatly. “Do I want to know what he’s been saying?” 

“It’s all very flattering,” Suga assures him. “Well. For Tanaka, anyway.” 

“Alright,” Ukai says with a smirk. “I’ll bite. What’s he said?” 

The text message had been succinct and out of the blue: _< suga-san, have you ever thought about what take-chan would have been like if he did push-ups and drank too much whiskey? because that guy exists, okay. and she is ukai’s girlfriend. and dude – she is HOT.>_

Suga isn’t expecting any particular reaction, but Ukai’s barking laughter is a lovely surprise. 

“Accurate!” he wheezes. “I didn’t know Tanaka was such a poet.” 

“He is a wordsmith at the most unlikely times.” For some reason, Suga thinks of the text messages he woke up to, and he shakes his head. “He…said you were at the funeral.” 

Ukai sighs, shoulders drooping like he’s been subjected a little too cruelly to gravity. “Yeah,” he echoes. “I’m…sorry for not reaching out to you. You looked like you could have used it.” 

Suga blinks. “You saw me?” he says. “I didn’t even notice you were _there_. _I_ should be the one apologizing—” 

“No, no.” Ukai waves his hand. “Really. It’s my bad. I meant to say ‘ hi,’ but I took one step and Ōsuke—my son—threw up on my shoes. He’s been pretty sick lately so—well, we had to deal with that. I was hoping you’d stop by the store, though, so I’m glad you did.”

Suga smiles. “So am I,” he says. “It’s great to see you, Coach. Uh, Keishin-san.” Suga rubs the back of his neck. “That’s going to take getting used to.” 

“Well,” says Ukai, shifting in his seat, “I hope you’ll stop by more often, so you can get used to it. How long are you in town for anyway? I want to introduce you.” 

They get to talking about Ukai’s family – his free-spirited, bartending wife and his two little kids, Ayano and Ōsuke. Where Daichi melts at the mention of Eriko, Ukai is calmly routine, telling Suga about his kids like he might relay a moderately interesting piece of local news. Suga rides the scratchy wave of Ukai’s voice, smiling at the way his eyes crease when he mentions Ayano’s sporty streak or Ōsuke’s obsession with dinosaurs; the way the corners of his lips curl when he guffaws over Marina’s ability to drink him under the table. That slow, precious silence between thoughts of his loved ones. It’s a beautiful narrative to get lost in, and Suga feels it tug at his heart like a scene from a movie, nostalgic and powerful and ultimately too far away.

It’s not difficult to feel happy for Ukai, but it’s impossible not to hurt. 

“So, how about you?” Ukai asks finally. “Anyone special in your life?” 

“Uh,” says Suga. He stares somewhere past Ukai’s left knee, considering which story to use, or if he should attempt even some semblance of the truth. What would the truth even _sound_ like? _Absurd,_ he decides, and laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess it’s complicated,” he admits. “Not quite what you and Daichi have, anyway.” 

Ukai is watching him, eyes dark and critical before he grunts, “Just listen to me. Asking questions like ‘anyone special in your life?’ Marina’s right, I can sound like a freaking geezer.” He stubs out his cigarette and offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Sugawara. That was dumb and insensitive.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Suga says quickly, feeling a little guilty for complicating the conversation. “It’s not an unfair thing to ask.”

Ukai shook his head. “It is,” he says. “Asking it like that, anyway. Forget about it. Say, can I…can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” says Suga, fingers tightening on his lap. The silence as Ukai gathers his words is waiting for a serve, trying to anticipate where the ball of conversation will move next—. 

“I noticed,” Ukai says slowly to his battered ashtray, “that Kageyama wasn’t there. At the funeral. And I was wondering if you knew why.” 

Suga exhales slowly through his nose. _Of course,_ he thinks. _Hardly a surprise._ He gathers his short, manageable words and explains. Ukai listens. Nods. 

“I see,” he says, when Suga finishes. “So then he’s…what? Alone? In Tokyo?”

“As far as I know,” says Suga quietly. “I called him last night when—well, after I found out where he was. But his phone was off, so I could only leave a message.” He tries not to remember the details of his incompetence too vividly. 

“Mm.” Ukai is glaring at his ashtray, mouth pursed, tapping his cigarette in an aimless tattoo. “I don’t like it,” he says finally. “Him being all alone like that.” 

“Me neither,” Suga agrees quietly, waiting, _knowing_ where this going to go— 

“So?” Suga doesn’t even have to lift his head to feel Ukai’s intent gaze. “Are you going to visit him?”

Suga releases the stale air he’s been keeping in his lungs since he hung up the phone last night. Or maybe since before that. Since sometime after New Year’s two years ago, when Kageyama sent him his most recent text _: <Yeah, you too, Sugawara-san>._ It’s a bitter, hollow breath, full of self-doubt and barely managed shame. And even though Suga knows that as soon as the words leave his mouth, he’ll realize how stupid they are, he has to hear them anyway. He has to try to explain. 

“The thing is,” Suga admits to his hands with a soft smile, “I’ve barely spoken with Kageyama. Over the years, I just— Or…Hinata. They…well, they were pretty busy with…things, and I…I didn’t follow up like I should have, so. I don’t know. I guess I just fell out of the loop. So I don’t think I really know him anymore—Kageyama—so. So. I’m not sure what good I could do, to be honest. To just show up on his doorstep like this. Right now. I—“ Suga picks at his nails. “Someone should definitely go see him to make sure he’s alright, but,” he offers a weak smile, “not me.”

That, now hanging in the air between them like an ugly banner, is all his supposedly killer instinct has to offer: _not me_. 

Ukai is staring at him, eyes critical again and dark. He sighs slowly, pulls on his cigarette. “Well,” he says, and his heavy tone is enough to make Suga want to snatch back his previous statement, bury his doubt, and cheerfully volunteer like he should have done from the outset, “I’d visit him myself, but I can’t go far with my boy sick. Sawamura’s got Eriko, and Tanaka—well, I guess Tanaka could go, but I didn’t think that he and Kageyama really—” 

“I—” Suga swallows and his hands are now fists on his knees. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be.” 

“But I am.” He laughs, because that’s the only thing keeping him breathing. “That sounded pathetic, didn’t it?” 

“Not the words I’d use,” Ukai says slowly, and, irrationally, Suga wishes he would look angry. Disgusted, even. 

“What words _would_ you use, Keishin-san?” 

The new bell rings and some of Ukai’s favorite customers tramp in sporting familiar, high-necked uniforms and black school bags. Their loud voices crumble the edge of their conversation to glassy rubble.

“Pipe down!” Ukai snaps at them, and the kids startle, bowing apologetically to both of them. That’s right, Suga realizes – in their eyes, he must be a grown-up, confident and successful and worthy of the respect you show your elders. He grimaces. How ironic. 

“I’d say,” Ukai says, dropping his voice as the kids cluster around the magazine racks, whispering and giggling like grade schoolers, “you guys need each other right now. Both of you. Forget the other stuff. The fact that you fell out of touch or whatever. Sometimes that can’t be helped. As strange as it is for me to admit it, you’re both grown adults living your own, grown-adult lives, so you can’t be expected to keep up with each other quite like you did back in high school. You might not think so, but it’s the same for Sawamura and Tanaka. I mean, Tanaka’s in here all the time doing deliveries for me, but I barely ever see Sawamura, and our kids go to school together. I don’t think he and Tanaka meet up all that much either. So keeping up with people is difficult. And most of the time, it’s not personal.

“But you and Kageyama.” Ukai taps his ashes. “Are different. Believe it or not, you left quite an impression on him back in the day. I know you weren’t around to see it, but you might as well have been his guiding star through his last two years. The result of which you’ve probably seen on national television. By his third year, he was—well, he’ll never be at your level, but in his own way he figured out how to draw scared underclassmen out of their shells and into their full potential. His smile even got so good it could pass as human from time to time.” 

Suga laughs breathily and Ukai smiles, his eyes warm. 

“So there’s no way he doesn’t still think about you and wonder how you’re doing,” Ukai continues. “There’s no way that seeing you again wouldn’t remind him that the world never gets completely dark, that even when you’re going through hell the sun always finds its way into the sky. Kageyama has been abandoned far too many times in his life, but never by you, Sugawara. Never by you. You know that, and I know that, and so does he.” 

Suga is staring hard at the corner of the cash register, where a wispy gray scuffmark curls like printed smoke up from the countertop. It’s hazy—the whole room is—and Suga swallows resolutely, coughing and nodding in tiny jerks. Ukai bobs his head easily beside him as Suga sniffs into his hand. 

“Go see him, okay?” Ukai murmurs. “You setters need to stick together. Especially when you start thinking so hard that you forget to move.” 

Suga gags what could have been a laugh. “Yeah,” he says softly. 

“What’s the train ride from Sendai to Tokyo? A couple hours?” 

“Around that.” 

“That’s not bad at all. Tell him we all say hello. Tell him…tell him I’m proud of him.” 

“Of course.” 

When Suga leaves, it’s with a bottle of expensive whiskey (“Consider it my contribution for tonight. No, don’t be an idiot; of course you’re not paying for it. Just promise me that if there’s any left over, _you_ take it home. Pry it out of Tanaka’s drunk hands if you have to”), another handshake, and the promise to visit again soon. As he passes the furtively staring high schoolers, he considers telling them how lucky they are. How they’d better not make trouble for this guy, how they should actually _buy_ a magazine from time to time, and you—yes, you, with the gym shoe sticking out of your bag—don’t _ever_ take your coach for granted, because you won’t know until much, much later what an amazing guy he is. 

(And also stop skipping out on morning practice – no member of Karasuno’s Volleyball Team should look that well-rested.)

 _Maybe I have a geezer streak of my own,_ Suga considers, and it scares up a soft, quiet giggle from somewhere deep in his chest. If Ukai represesnts any standard of it, Suga sincerely hopes he does.

“Really, Sugawara,” Ukai says, all dark eyes and chisled lines, leaning against the doorjamb as he sees him out. “No matter what happens, or what might change, you always have a home here. We will always be here for you. That’s the thing about a team, y’know? That’s Karasuno. And besides,” he grins, “I have this hunch that Ayano’s going to grow up to be one hell of a setter someday, so I’ll need Uncle Sugawara to show her the ropes. So indulge me and my weird, parental streak, yeah? Don’t be a stranger.”

He won’t, Suga promises with a smile, and he really hopes that he means it.

 

 

Suga’s last night in Karasuno is full of laughter and stories. Daichi falls asleep sitting up at ten twenty-three and Tanaka takes a selfie with him while Suga pries the permanent marker out of Noya’s hands. They Skype Asahi from Noya’s phone, and even though the screen freezes and his voice is tinny and incoherent, it’s _Asahi,_ crying in the morning light. 

They all cry. 

Like idiots; in frayed, imperfect happiness; like grieving friends and reunited comrades. They toast— _to the brightest star Karasuno has or ever will see_ —to Shōyō—and they drink. _To Shōyō._

Late night becomes early morning, and Suga hugs a determinedly conscious Noya goodbye (“I missed you, Suga. I miss you. Come visit okay? Visit Asahi and me, okay? We miss you”); pats a determinedly unconscious Daichi on the forehead (“No grafitti, alright?” to Noya, who shrugs innocently); and whispers to a semi-conscious Tanaka that he needs to go. 

“Nooooo, Suga-san.” Tanaka fumbles with his ankle as though to waylay him. “Don’t go. Crash here. Go morning.” 

Suga laughs softly, shuffling Tanaka’s short hair through his fingers. “I can’t,” he says. “My train leaves in four hours and I need to get my stuff.” 

“Nooooo.” Tanaka’s fingers dig into his foot. “Suga-san, noooo. Don’t leave, don’t leave me, don’t—I’ll—” His shoulders spasm and he chokes into the floor. 

“Hey,” says Suga, touching the crux of his shoulder blades and seeking Noya with his eyes, who crawls over like a cat sensing sadness. “Tanaka. It’s…it’s going to be alright. All of it. Okay? I’m going now, but…but I’ll be back soon, and I…. Hey, how about I promise you?” Tanaka is still braced with his face smooshed into the floor, but he nods the head that Noya’s patting.

“I promise,” Suga says, feeling his words grow weighty with implication. Follow-through, “that I will come home. Soon. And that when I do, I’ll bring Kageyama with me.” 

He can feel Noya staring at him. Tanaka looks up, his eyes bright with tears, a round pink circle pressed into his forehead from the floor. His brow creases. “What is _that?_ ” he squeaks. “Now you’re _never_ coming home!” 

Suga laughs and rubs Tanaka’s back and says, “No, no, I will! I _will_ come home and I’ll bring Kageyama too. Believe in me, okay?” 

“That’s right,” Noya says, breaking from his stunned silence with gusto. “If Suga-san can’t do it, then nobody can! He’s magic, Ryuu, remember?” His smile is fond and quiet, and somehow Suga thinks of Asahi. “Go get him, Suga-san,” he says. “Travel safely, okay?”

Still mumbling his reluctance, Tanaka manages to give Suga a dazed, one-armed hug, during which Suga delicately relieves from him the half-drunk bottle of whiskey.  

 

 

Normal life, he discovers, has been waiting for him on the other side of this surreal weekend, and it is distressingly easy to fall back into the rhythm of the office, skate gracefully past condolences and pitying looks from people who know too little and aren’t close enough to warrant educating. He is exhausted all day Monday, floating in a haze of sleep deprivation and scattered thoughts, but he somehow manages to find himself in bed by eight-thirty, showered and ready for sleep, counting the digital pulse of a ringing line. His heart jolts when the call picks up, the hitch of that familiar voice. 

“Suga?”

“Hi,” he says shortly, “I—” Considers his words. “I think I’ll be coming to Tokyo after all.” He smiles. “If you still have room for me on your couch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! I will do my best to update as soon as my schedule and sanity allow. f^^;;


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